


Benefits

by Trobadora



Series: Mercury [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s02e02 Sleeper, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You might as well make it worth my while."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> Set post- _Sleeper_ in Jack's timeline, and pre- _Partners in Crime_ in the Doctor's. 
> 
> Written for [Porn Battle XV](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/65746.html) and the prompts, "Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness, rejection, reunited, clothes".

Jack held the snapped-off end of Beth's arm blade for a moment longer, then let it clatter onto his desk. He massaged his forehead with his fingers and breathed out heavily. There wasn't anything more he could do. The threat of an invasion by Cell 114 was still up in the air - who knew whether that sleeper agent had told the truth? They'd found no evidence either way, not that it was possible to prove an absence in this case. Still, he couldn't seem to still his mind. His memory kept throwing it all at him, every bit of the devastated aftermaths of similar invasions that he'd seen or heard from. Damn, he needed some distraction.

A shame things between him and Ianto weren't at a point where Jack would have felt comfortably inflicting his foul mood on him. They were doing "dinner and a movie", not "fuck you and kick you out". And going out on the pull seemed more like a chore than anything right now. 

This was one of the times when Jack really missed his home century. He'd never then lacked for a friend who'd have been up for some quick, mindless pleasure. _Friends with benefits_ , they called it now - one of those quaint, slightly ridiculous terms Jack had never quite managed to get used to. Whether it was sex you shared with a friend or an interest in hulaball, what difference did it make? The point was to have fun together, that was all.

Jack sighed and leaned back in his chair, pressing a hand against the front of his trousers. It wasn't like he was much in the mood for _fun_ anyway. He wanted something blunt and simple and to the point, and this would do just fine. Fingers up his arse, a fist around his cock - a perfunctory orgasm and, hopefully, some quiet sleep.

 _Sleep._ He didn't need much of it, but sometimes he really wished he did, that it were still as easy to physically exhaust himself into unconsciousness as it once had been.

Jack pushed himself up. He opened the cover of the manhole leading to his bedroom and made to swing down, but instinct had him hesitate. The air from below felt subtly wrong, neither too warm nor too cold but not the right temperature either, and there seemed to be a slight smell of ozone, just at the edge of his perception. Yet there was no light below, and no sound of movement either. 

He ran a quick scan with his Vortex Manipulator. There was something down there, indeed, something none of the Hub's considerable security systems had noticed coming. Or rather, some _one_. Jack stared at the read-out for a long, stunned moment. Two hearts.

 _The Doctor._ Down there, quiet in the darkness. What the hell?

Eyebrows going up and up, Jack went down the manhole rather more slowly and carefully than he'd originally meant to.

~*~

Jack took it all in: the TARDIS wedged into a corner, the Doctor lying on Jack's narrow camp bed, sleeping. Not in the bed, but on - curled up on top of the duvet like a cat, coat and Converse and all. He hadn't even woken when Jack had climbed down. 

Jack didn't turn on the light, but his eyes adapted quickly. On a shelf, he could see a pouch of Tellusian nova-marbles had been half poured out, glittering in the dim light from the open manhole, and a book had been pulled from its row, then discarded on top of the others. The papers on the table had been spread around, too. A surge of anger ran through Jack's body. 

The Doctor had always had that habit - strolling into a room, poking through anything he might find, heedless of other people's privacy. If you travelled with him you had to get used to it, and quickly - the Doctor would stick his nose into anything and everything, would turn up in your bedroom (and not for fun reasons either), would enthusiastically dissect your private life without sharing much if anything of his own. Jack supposed his redeeming grace was that he always seemed to manage to pick companions who didn't seriously mind, or at least were willing to put up with it for all the other things that came with the Doctor.

Jack himself certainly hadn't cared, back when he'd been travelling with the Doctor. It had all been in good fun, and the Doctor's enthusiasm had always been infectious. But that had been a long time ago, and Jack was a different man now, a living secret, so many things kept tightly locked away from prying eyes. He'd become _private_ , and the Doctor's blithe assumption that everything in the world was his to rifle through simply grated.

Jack reined himself in. The Doctor had only done what the Doctor always did, poking through Jack's things before he'd fallen asleep on Jack's bed, waiting.

 _The Doctor had waited for him here._ The thought seized Jack, and arrested him for a long moment. His anger drained away, and he smiled down at the Doctor's tousled head, his mouth curling into a helpless smile. He reached out a hand to wake him, and then stopped. Should he? 

He might be putting an end to whatever might have happened, just by that simple touch. The Doctor's boundaries had never been easy to navigate, but even less so now that Jack couldn't simply try again the next night. For all that the Doctor cared little about other people's privacy, the lines he drew for his own were firm and inflexible. Get it right, or get out.

Jack stood still, hand outstretched, his eyes fixed on the Doctor's sleeping form, and he let himself look for a little longer. This wasn't a privilege he'd ever had before, watching the Doctor sleep. Whatever they'd shared, whatever they'd done to and for each other to make quiet sleep possible, it had always led them back to their separate bedrooms in the end. 

But he'd never hesitated before; he wasn't going to start now. One last lingering look, fondness pooling in his belly, then he clasped a hand around the Doctor's up-drawn shoulder, bony even through the layers of coat, jacket and shirt, and shook him gently.

Within an instant, arms unwrapped from around legs, and the Doctor sat up, a Time Lord's instant wakefulness. He blinked once, twice, then tilted his head a little and threw Jack a sideways, annoyed look. "Took you long enough. Now what 'm I supposed to do, hm?" 

"What you planned to do in the first place, I suppose." Jack sat down on the mattress beside him, smirking. Not letting anticipation take hold.

And that was a good thing; a moment later, the Doctor was on his feet, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat, scrunching his nose at Jack. "I've already slept," he snapped.

Jack didn't rise to it, and stayed where he was.

"Managed just fine on my own, too," the Doctor continued. "Bored to sleep, what a thing." It was the sort of complaint that should have come with a pout, but instead the Doctor's face was all serious lines and shadowed eyes.

Jack kept his tone mild. "Always happy to provide a bed." 

The Doctor bounced a little on the balls of his feet. His fingers came up to pull on his right earlobe. "Well, I'm going, then." 

A few quick strides, and he was at the TARDIS door. He pushed it open, and greenish light washed over him from within. Jack watched him go, not quite angry and not quite disappointed, and not quite sure what to feel.

In the doorway, the Doctor turned around, scowling. His hand was clenched on the doorframe. "What've you been so busy with, anyway? Torchwood things, I suppose." An angry line formed on his forehead at the mention of the name, and displeasure tainted his voice. "Captured any aliens lately? Or do you just kill them outright?"

Jack felt suddenly furious again, all the tension in his body strung to his limits. This was really the last thing he needed, the Doctor's judgment, the Doctor's callous dismissal. "It was Cell 114," he snapped.

The Doctor stilled, eyes widening in shock. "Oh. Them." His hand fell down from the doorframe, and he looked down. After a moment he asked, almost parenthetically, "You stopped them?" 

Jack hated to admit it to the Doctor, especially now, but it had to be done. "We stopped some of them. There might have been more, but we can't tell for sure. Could you ..."

The Doctor blinked at him, then suddenly grinned, wide and real and - incongruously - almost happy. "Oh, of course! I'll just run a scan -" He turned around, into the TARDIS, and was gone, out of sight. "Won't take long," he called from inside.

Jack sighed and lay back on the mattress. Any moment now the door would snap close, and all that would be left of the Doctor's visit would be the wheezing, pulsing sound of the TARDIS dematerialising, quickly fading into silence. Because after all, if his scan found something, the Doctor would hardly leave it to Torchwood to deal with it, and if not - well, he had no reason to stay. He closed his eyes. Fitting ending for a lousy day.

"Jack?"

His eyes snapped open. The Doctor was just coming out of the TARDIS again, scratching his nose. When his hand fell away it revealed a wry smile.

"Why haven't you left yet?" The words were out before Jack had time to rethink them, and he pressed his lips together against more of his anger trying to spill out.

"Well." The Doctor came closer, hands in his pockets now, and stood over the bed. Jack didn't bother to sit up. "You've got a mood today."

"You're one to talk." 

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets to cross them in front of this chest. "I thought you'd want to know," he snapped back. "No sign of Cell 114 anywhere in this solar system." 

Jack breathed a sign of relief. "Thank you," he said, fervent gratitude overruling everything else, and he felt some of the tension in his stomach fade. Maybe it would stave off some of the nightmares, too. 

The Doctor's eyes flickered over his face, noticing everything. "I suppose ..." A sideways tilt of the head. "Might as well show you - they cloak their ships, but they leave a rather unique peak in the infra-Kallian spectrum. You can rig your scanners for it once you know how to separate it from the ambient radiation." A small, disgusted smirk. "Even if you are Torchwood. I suppose it had to be good for _something_ in the end."

A gift wrapped in an off-hand insult - yes, that was the Doctor all right. Jack didn't even try to come up with an answer beyond an exasperated, grateful smile.

The Doctor looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "Well," he said, and stopped, then abruptly sat down on the mattress beside Jack. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. "Since I've been doing your work for you, you might as well make it worth my while."

A humourless huff of a laugh startled out of Jack's chest. "I thought you slept enough already."

The Doctor smirked. "Well ... can't hurt, can it? Make doubly sure, belt and braces, all that." 

Genuine laughter started winding itself up in Jack's belly. He didn't let it out. "You? Really?"

The Doctor ducked his head a little, but then it came up again, and his eyes were dark. "Are you complaining?" He pressed a palm against Jack's chest. His other hand came up to the side of Jack's face, cool knuckles brushing along his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw.

Jack felt a familiar thrill spike through his body, going straight to his cock. "Fine," he snapped, not quite willing to give up on his anger yet. "What's your pleasure, Doc?"

With the question, his mind set off on a familiar track. What would it be today?

Jack had never been particular when it came to sex. He knew he had a reputation for what they called kink in this century - what they'd called perversion not so long ago - but in the end, he simply enjoyed sharing pleasure. The _how_ wasn't the point; it was all good.

The Doctor, on the other hand, had some very specific preferences, or rather, hard limits. The trouble - and the thrill - was that they were never the same limits twice in a row. Sometimes kissing seemed more important than anything, going on for what could feel like hours; sometimes the mouth was a strict no-go zone. Sometimes he was playful and teasing, happy to be teased in return; sometimes only blunt and to-the-point touches were allowed. Sometimes he liked to be held down even while he struggled; sometimes as little as a slight nudge was asking too much, and all Jack could do was hold still while the Doctor took and gave whatever he chose.

Whatever it was going to be today, it was all good. Even though Jack was still angry, the Doctor was here, after all.

The Doctor stood up again, quickly kicking off his shoes and shucking off his coat, his jacket, his shirt, dropping them all carelessly on the floor. Jack, not to be outdone, ditched his own shoes and shirt, grinning at the Doctor.

The Doctor stood over him and reached out. His hand curled around Jack's head, and cool fingers pressed against the back of his neck. Jack went along with the slight pressure, let the Doctor guide his head between his legs, and nuzzled at him through his trousers. Jack brought up his hands, hooked them into the Doctor's waistband and pulled out his vest. A quick, questioning tap of fingertips against skin, and the Doctor hissed, then snapped, "Get on with it."

Well. Jack had wanted a quick, mindless fuck earlier. Looked like he was getting it after all. He pulled back for a smirk and made quick work of the Doctor's trousers, but when he leaned in again, the Doctor pushed him away from his already half-hard cock. 

"C'mon," the Doctor muttered impatiently, pulling Jack up, hands on the waistband of Jack's trousers, and moments later they were both naked. 

Then another smirk, and the Doctor pushed Jack back onto the mattress, letting himself tumble on top. Jack enjoyed the feel of him for a moment, the cool, bony, sinewy weight on top of him, the hands stroking his sides, the swelling cock against his thigh.

Then he hooked a leg over the Doctor's hips and had them turned over in a second, positions switched. He grinned down at the Doctor's scowl. "I've never seen this you before," he said, fluttering his eyelashes a little. "You aren't going to deny me that, are you?"

The Doctor looked at him as if he was considering doing just that, but then he huffed, relaxing back into the mattress. "Not much to see, but be my guest, I suppose."

Jack licked his lips, grinning, and pulled back far enough to take a proper look. In the nude, the Doctor seemed somehow more naked than any other man. He always had, which was probably why their encounters had all too often ended with both of them still half-dressed. This new Doctor didn't exactly project the same belligerent vulnerability as Jack's first Doctor, but without the armour of his coat and suit, without the layers of clothing that went into the image of the Doctor, he looked just as exposed. 

The Doctor Jack had known had never been buff, but this new Doctor was narrow and bony, skin stretched over very little flesh. Jack ran his fingertips over the Doctor's shoulders, his collarbones, his ribs. His skin was all new to Jack, but the reactions were familiar. It wasn't the same touch that drew a wordless hiss, not the same caress that would make him shiver or curse or kick a foot at Jack in exasperation, but he'd seen all of these before, in a different body responding to different stimuli. The taste of the Doctor's skin was new, too, though the cooler-than-human temperature was the same of course, and so was the faint tinge of something electric that had always clung to him and was still clinging to him now.

His cock was fully hard now, and it twitched a little when Jack proceeded to look it over thoroughly, fingertips hovering just far enough from the skin to avoid touching. Jack wanted to take it into his mouth, swirl his tongue along the ridge, find out how the Doctor tasted now when he came in Jack's mouth. He didn't.

Instead, he ran his palms from the inside of the Doctor's thighs to the outside, then up his hips, and then insinuated them between skin and sheets, curving around the Doctor's cheeks.

"Nice ass."

The Doctor's expression was pinched, and his hands were clenched, keeping himself still. "You'd better _really_ make this worth my while," he huffed, flushing a little. Then, almost too fast, "What was wrong with the old one, anyway?"

"Not a thing," Jack promised. "But I can't have both, can I? So it's a good thing there's _nothing wrong_ with the new one, either."

His gentle mockery seemed to hit some sort of button, and the Doctor shook himself. "Enough," he snarled, pulling his legs out from where Jack had been crouched over them. He hooked his hands under his knees and pulled them up, exposing himself completely. His cock bounced on his belly, and left a little bit of pre-come behind. Jack couldn't help smiling at it. "Now," the Doctor demanded, and when Jack looked up, there was a glare focused on him. "Time to deliver, Captain. I want you in me, now."

How the Doctor managed to look supercilious in that position, Jack would never understand - it must be a special Time Lord talent. Jack let himself sink down between the Doctor's legs, leaning forward, bracing his hands beside his shoulders. "No," he whispered against his lips.

The Doctor's whole body jerked under him. "What!"

Jack smirked. "Not without prep." He knew well enough what the Doctor had asked for - they'd done that before, in another body, in another time. He wasn't going to give it to him, not now - and if that was the end of it, if the Doctor would rather walk away than make that concession, well, he'd live. 

The Doctor sneered up at him. "What, you think I can't take you?"

Jack rolled his eyes and sat back again. "I know you can. Still won't." He'd seen the Doctor desperate for a hard, rough fuck, and he'd given it to him. He knew what that looked like, was sure he'd recognise it in a different body, a different pair of eyes, and this wasn't it. 

The Doctor's mouth opened for more complaints, more demands, but Jack knew how to deal with that. His hand slid down the Doctor's leg, curving around his arse, and he pushed a finger inside, roughly. The Doctor bucked up against it, involuntarily, and scowled. But he kept his hands where they were, holding up his legs, spreading them, and Jack knew he'd won.

The Doctor was tight around Jack's finger. No lube, no prep - Jack had been right to think it would hurt if he went along with what the Doctor claimed to want. Somehow that didn't come as much of a surprise. Jack pulled his finger out a little, then pushed back in, curling it into the Doctor's prostate. The Doctor gasped a curse. 

Jack grinned, tried to remember where he'd put the lube, and decided to take his proper time with this. Who knew when he'd have the chance again?

~*~

"This is revenge, isn't it?" the Doctor panted, breathless, as Jack thrust into him again, four fingers curled tightly together. 

Perhaps it was. Jack had always used sex as a tool, as well as an end in itself - a method of communication, a deflection, a handy way of ramping up the endorphins while simultaneously physically exhausting himself, making for deep, restful sleep and pleasant dreams. It was good for everything, as well as just plain _good_.

It was a voice and a silence, and no one knew how to wield it better than he.

The Doctor was loose and slippery now, more than ready, but Jack was still drawing this out. The Doctor's cock was red and leaking, and Jack still hadn't touched it. Every now and then he had to press his knuckles against the base of his own cock for a little relief, and it earned him a curse from the Doctor every time. 

He did it again, one last time, and laughed at the Doctor's hissed, "Bastard!" Then he finally pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the sheets. His hands slid up the Doctor's thighs, meeting his hands.

"Let go," he said, quiet as a sigh. The Doctor did, and now Jack's hands were the ones holding his legs. He grinned in delight, hooked the Doctor's legs over his shoulders and, slow as he could manage, pushed inside.

The Doctor's mouth fell open, shoulders lifted a little, and his body arched. He tilted back his head, throat exposed. It was nothing like submission; it was the self-assured, entitled sprawl of a cat demanding to be scritched. The image lodged itself in Jack's brain, and he suppressed a laugh - he didn't have the breath for it.

It didn't take long - they'd both been too close to the edge for too long - but it had been worth the wait, feeling the Doctor's body clench around him like this, in nothing but pleasure, looking down into brown eyes that showed only need and lust and not the slightest trace of anger or pain.

~*~

For once, the Doctor didn't jump up right away, from orgasm to business as usual in less than a second. He didn't try to move at all, and instead let Jack rest on top of him, arms not wrapping around him but not pushing away either. The dim light from the open manhole and the greenish glow from the inside of the TARDIS together made a cosy haven of the spartan underground bolthole and its almost perfunctory furniture, and Jack breathed in the smell of the Doctor's body, smiling.

"Pain is easier," the Doctor said eventually, quietly.

Jack's heart clenched at the admission. "I know." Anger was easier, too.

But he remembered the Doctor's last visit, only a short week ago. There had been no pain or anger in that, no deflection, no urgency. Just Jack and the Doctor and the connection between them, real and still solid beneath everything. It had been one of the most erotic experiences of Jack's life, too, and it had involved nothing more than chaste hand-holding, not even leading up to anything else.

"You never did let me get away with it." A brief pause, then the Doctor drew a deep breath. "I never said thanks. So, consider it said now."

Jack pressed a helpless smile into the Doctor's shoulder. "We're quite a pair. Never did manage to do anything the easy way."

The Doctor's chest moved beneath him, shaking in a soundless laugh. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that?" He pushed up against Jack's shoulders after all, and they sat up together, looking at each other with matching wry grins. 

And then the Doctor was up, snatching clothes and shoes from the floor. Not even bothering to get dressed, he walked the few steps over to the TARDIS naked as he was.

In the doorway, he turned and winked. "Very worth my while, Captain, in case you were wondering."

Jack watched the doors close, and his eyes kept on the TARDIS all through the pulsing lights of her disappearing. Only then did he settle on the bed again. But the warm, content smile was still on Jack's face when he fell asleep.


End file.
